


Alone Zones, more like Together Zones, amirite?

by CallipygousContradiction



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 'We're gonna makeout with this stakeout', Altered Ending, Banter, Based on Season 2 Episode 11 'Stakeout', Bucky is Charles, But less weird lmao, Clint is Jake, Friends to Lovers, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 21:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15894765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallipygousContradiction/pseuds/CallipygousContradiction
Summary: Based on season 2 episode 11 of Brooklyn Nine-Nine: Bucky and Clint take on a way too long stakeout mission.Keep eyes on a drop house presumably used by Frank Castle. Easy right?Dead wrong, as them annoying each other to death is very much predestined.None of the Avengers placed bets on them coming out of the debacle even /closer/ than before, though.





	Alone Zones, more like Together Zones, amirite?

**Author's Note:**

> For those who love the Nine-Nine as much as I do. I interpreted the characters to be kind of like this: 
> 
> Captain Holt: Nick Fury  
> Rosa Diaz: Natasha Romanoff  
> Terry Jeffords: Steve Rogers  
> Jake Peralta: Clint Barton  
> Charles Boyle: Bucky Barnes  
> Gina Linetti: Tony Stark  
> Amy Santiago: Bruce Banner
> 
> I think we can all agree that Tony is Gina.  
> I went off the original script for obvious reasons as I ferociously ship WinterHawk.  
> Sometimes I swapped Jake’s/Clint’s and Charles’/Bucky’s lines, as Charles, in my opinion, says/does things I just can’t picture ever coming out of Bucky’s mouth but are quality Clint Barton material.
> 
> It took me ages to convert the episode into script and then some more to turn it into actual logical sentences. Was tons of fun though!
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

**Brief, 8:00 am**

Steve and Fury are their usual authoritarian presences are they barrel into the briefing room. The other Avengers are sitting around a sleek metal table, each of them in varying states of interest, sleepiness and boredom.

Steve clears his throat and splays his hand across the board behind his broad shoulders, covered with various pictures connected with red string or highlighted with yellow markers. „Listen up, we’ve got intel on a drop house used by Frank Castle, gone rouge Marine Corps veteran after the murder of his family before his eyes.“

Clint whistles lowly. „Big shot, nice.“

„He and possible allies use the site to drop off money and pick up weapons. We need a couple of teams to do long-term stakeouts.“ Fury announces and a wave of displeased mumbles, dismissive grunts and a pained groan from Tony rumble through the assembled group of heroes. Natascha, who has her feet shamelessly propped up onto the table, crosses leather covered arms over her chest. „I’m out. Four hours is the most I’ve spent alone with any human. It was the worst experience of my life.“ 

Bruce turns around to face her with a frown. „What about that time we flew out to Romania together? That was about 4 hours. Oh, I see what just happened.“

Fury directs the general attention (which isn’t too much frankly) back to the case at hand by pulling up a Powerpoint presentation. „The only decent vantage is this condemned hotel across the street.“

„We can go in as exterminators, but too much movement will look suspicious. It’s an eight-day op, so two teams will do four days each.“ Steve adds, eyeing the heroes quizzically.

Clint immediately speaks up. „Barnes and I are in.“

„Okay, that’s one team. Who wants to relieve them?“

„If extraction is at risk, the two of us can do the full eight days. A Christmas miracle.“ Clint disagrees and Steve’s expression grows hard and commanding, it’s the one they mockingly call the ‚Captain America‘ look behind his back.

„No. That’s too long to be holed up together like that. I did a six day stakeout once. Did not go well.“

„Well,“ Clint cuts him off from further elaboration, which would probably ensue in a 30 minute one-man-debate about the pros and risks of long term stakeouts, backed up with various personal and factual examples. „That’s not gonna be a problem for us. The only time I ever yelled at Bucky was cheering him on at your super-solider eating contest.“ 

„And in bed.“ Tony mumbles under his breath from his seat in the back, earning a snicker from Natascha and a scolding huff one from Steve. Bucky, finally, speaks up as well, deciding it’s time to back up a friend for once.

„We never fight. It won’t be a stakeout, it’ll be a stake-cation. Look, I’m even making new-age neologisms, that's how confident I am.“ Clint nods approvingly and bursts out into song, altering the lyrics to Eddie Money's 'Take me home tonight'.

„See, we already have a Theme song!“

Fury sighs exasperatedly. „Well, that concludes this meeting.“

______________________________________________________________________________

  

**Condemned Hotel, 11:28 am**  

Their vehicle of choice is a SUV with a ugly yellow print reading ‚Huntly exterminating company‘. Steve and Natascha, in full exterminator gear, unload several boxes of equipment and two unsuspicious suspiciously human sized bags onto a cart and roll it into the building.  

Up in their mangy hotel room, Natascha mercilessly dumps the two bags onto the ground and unzips them, a very bruised Bucky and Clint emerging.

„Oh my God, did you carry us up here like suitcases?“ Clint asks in awe and Steve sighs. 

„No, Clint, this is real life. I rolled you up on the cart.“ 

„Boo!“ 

„Steve sucks! Steve sucks!“ Bucky chants with a shit-eating grin splitting his face. It quickly disappears though, as Steve sends his probably most stern look to date his way.

„Steve’s great! Steve’s great!“ He backpedals immediately and Clint has to hold back an incredulous snort as the corners of Steve’s mouth actually twitch upwards despite himself. Idiots.

Natascha slams a suitcase down onto the table, unloading lots of weird canned food. „Where do you want the food? And does braided herring and jellied meat count as food?“

„Oh, indeed it does. I may be stuck in a tiny room, but my Russian palate will travel the world.“ Bucky insists and Clint might be deaf but he is sure he can hear the collective eye-roll aimed at the super soldier.

And suddenly Steve thinks it’s time to patronize them again, because he's straightened up and squared his shoulders, indicating some sort of command to follow. „Listen up. This is a real small room. If you start getting on each others nerves, do what Fury made me and Tony do: Go to separate corners. We called it ‚alone zones‘.“

„All due respect, Captain, but we don’t need ‚alone zones‘.“ Bucky shrugs Steve’s concerned look off and Clint agrees. He grabs a packet of scones from the table and presents them in a very waiter-ly manner. „But, let me ask you a question. How do we feel about scone zones?“

Steve throws his arms up in disbelief and turns on his heels to leave, Natasha following. 

„Just so you know, we’ve all got bets on how long you’ll survive. Also, every self-inflicted injury adds a Dollar to the pool.“

„Well then all of you dirty traitors are gonna come out of that very fucking poor!“ Clint shouts after her and eases back into the creaky sofa, promptly choking on a cloud of chipped off drywall and dust rising from it's dirty cover.

______________________________________________________________________________

 

  **Day 1**

„Great news, my friend, we’ve got a new bathroom pet.“ Clint declares as he steps out of the bathroom. „His name is Horace and he’s either a small rat or a very large cockroach, and he’s either sleeping or dead.“ He grabs one of his many equipment boxes from the floor (Purple H painted onto it, of course) and sets it onto the table.

Bucky, unfazed, claps his hands twice and flips on his phone screen. „So here’s the schedule. Eight hours both on watch, eight hours I sleep, you watch, eight hours you sleep, I watch. I set an alarm. I made the perfect ringtone.“ He grins as their ‚Theme song‘ plays from the speaker. He bobs his head, hair falling into his face, and Clint smiles in approval. 

„Love it.“ Bucky turns the case around and flips it open, extracting a couple of weapons and utensils. „Alright, we got binocs, camera, night vision goggles, computer, weapons, weapons, more weapons, your archery stuff and…“ He reaches into the case again with a slight frown. „Mini basketball?“

„Oh my god, yes.“ Clint moans and immediately installs it onto the wall. He tosses the ball to Bucky, who effortlessly catches it with his metal hand. „’oop me, man.“

„Already Ooping.“ Bucky replies in the slightly hesitant way whenever he doesn’t quite understand Clint’s stupid, made-up lingo, but throws the ball anyway. „One, two three!“

Clint misses it, slams into the wall and crashes down onto the ground face first. „Did that look as cool as it felt?“

Bucky winces, mildly concerned. „How cool did that feel?“

Clint groans.

______________________________________________________________________________

  

**Day 2**

 

The mildly annoying tune of the theme song bounces off the bare, flakey walls and Bucky startles from a deep, surprisingly calm sleep.

„Wow, that sleep apnea mask is something else, huh?“ Clint raises his eyebrows at him critically, but without any heat behind it.

„ I gotta say, ever since S.H.I.E.L.D. made me wear her–

„Her?“

„She touches my lips, Clint, she’s a her. And since she took up residence on my face, I sleep like a baby.“ Bucky shrugs it off and stretches his arms. The metal glints in the early morning light, and he cheekily angles it so the sunlight reflects into Clint’s eyes.

Clint, of course, knowing Bucky very well, has opted for the weird 2010 sports-brand sunglasses he likes to wear to protect his fragile elven eyes. Dork. „Okay. Well, while you slept, there was some action at the drop site. A blue Sedan pulled up. Got the plate and the drivers face.“ Bucky untangles himself from his blankets and lets himself fall onto the wobbly chair opposite of Clint. He groggily pours himself some cereal into a chipped bowl he’d rather not inspect too closely. Whatever, he’s had worse. 

Clint places a picture of a Mexican looking guy onto the table, pushing it away from him it so it appears in Bucky’s part of vision that isn’t covered by his weird longish hair. „Also, this is the guy who runs the drop house. I call him the ‚Beach Umbrella‘ because he’s so shady.“ He smiles proudly to himself and Bucky rolls his eyes, chewing his cereal noncommittally.

Clint wrinkles his nose. „Hey, this is a kind of weird request, but would you mind chewing your Frosties with your mouth closed? I know the 40s were kind of a caveman period, but man, it’s 2018.“

Bucky holds back a smirk. „I can’t, and I’m excited to tell you why. I have a new eating method, of course not only because it annoys you. I realized that open mouths oxygenate the food, so it’s kind of like wine tasting.“

„ And I hear you buddy, I really do. We all gotta find the best 3 Dollar wine that doesn’t want to make you turn your mouth inside out, it’s just– it’s pretty gross.“ Clint sighs.

„Okay, but I don’t complain about how gross your meal is.“ Bucky replies, mouth closed a _little_ more now.

„What’s gross about cereal with orange soda? Come on.“

„Was that a rhetorical question?“

Clint shrugs. „Yeah? It’s how I cut out the fat. This is me being healthy.“

Bucky shrugs and turns to pick up his cereal bowl, metal fingers clinking against the ceramic. „Okay, well, maybe we just eat in separate corners of the room.“

Clint nods in agreement. „Great. I love that plan.“ Then some sort of realization seems to strike him. „Wait! That’s alone zones. We don’t need alone zones! We’re fine, we’re not fighting.“

Bucky slides back into his chair quickly. „We’re _great_. Keep eating your… culinary abomination.“

Clint just raises an eyebrow. „Is this the time to remind you that 'ham and bananas hollandaise' were a thing in the 40s? Also, sure, keep that chew-hole open, you savage.“

______________________________________________________________________________

  

**Day 3**  

And so again, the Theme song rings through the room the next morning.  

„Love this song!“ Clint says a little too loudly, tipping back far backward on his chair. All that perch practice he always seems to be doing is probably the only reason his mug hasn’t mercilessly connected with the floor already. „I can’t even remember the original lyrics anymore.“ 

Bucky ignores him from where he is spying out the window in a way more professional manner. He indicates Clint to focus his eyes onto the important task at hand. The camera shutter snaps repeatedly as the archer takes a couple of pictures. „Black SUV, female driver.“ He observes. „Wearing a lot of drab colors, so we’ll call her Mrs. Peacock.“ 

Bucky shoots him a confused look. „Male peacocks are the colorful dressers.“ Clint enthusiastically explains and waves his binoculars around. „God, how did humans get it so backwards?“ 

„Well you certainly didn’t with all that purple.“ Bucky mutters under his breath, quietly enough so Clint’s hearing aids won’t pick it up. 

After the suspicious woman and her SUV have disappeared, Clint begins to scoot around on his seat uneasily. „Listen, about our ‚alone zone‘ close call– 

„Oh that– it’s not a big deal. We’re not gonna start fighting. We never fight. Annoy each other? Yes. Fight? Never.“ Bucky replies, convinced. 

Clint, of course, because of the complete moron he is, comes up with a mindblowlingly idiotic solution. „Yeah, totally. Yeah. But just to be safe, we could write down some of each others annoying behaviors that we want to be off-limits, you know? We could call it the ‚No-no list‘.“ 

Instead of ‚what is this, pre-school?‘, Bucky says „Oh, I love it.“ 

 

**15 Minutes later**  

Clint steps away from the wall he has just scribbled a detailed list onto, admiring his work. „Okay, so here’s what I’ve got for you.“ 

Bucky eyes it critically, but reads it out loud anyway. „No eating with my mouth open.“ He states like it’s a national insult. 

„We knew that already.“

„No long hair in the shower drain, no reciting poetry, no squatting in weird places, no bird calls to annoy slash distract you and no yoga.“ He takes a minute to take it in. „Can I do my yoga secretly? Watch this.“ He goes completely still, probably regulating every one of his movements or some other weird shit. „You’ll never know I’m doing it.“ 

Clint snorts. „I can definitely tell. Contrary to popular belief, I’m a Master Assassin too, remember? All right! Give me my no-no’s.“

„Okay, no orange-soda cereal, no talking about ‚Die Hard‘“ He extends the word, drawing it out. 

Clint’s voice wavers for a second. „Okay. I can totally do that.“ 

„Or ‚Die Hard‘ 2 or ‚Die Hard‘ 3.“

„What? Come on. So you just want me to talk about the fourth one?“

„There’s a fourth one?“

„Bucky!“

„No judging me for not knowing the ‚Die Hards‘. I’m an uncultured caveman. A hot, cultivated cavemen though.“ He adds and enjoys the faint blush it get’s out of Clint.

„All right, fine. What else?“

„No eating anything from the jar, no using my toothbrush because you're too lazy to unpack yours. And that’s it.“

„Bucky, this no-no list is a slam dunk. Oop me.“ Clint immediately says and springs into action.

Bucky picks up the ball again and flings it towards the hoop without much enthusiasm. 

He winces as Clint jumps, misses and crashes to the ground.

„I’m getting better." 

„Yeah, you are.“ His sarcasm, as always, goes undetected.

______________________________________________________________________________

 

**Day 4**

Clint stares out of the window through his binoculars, impatiently tapping his foot against the questionably stained floor. „Come on, somebody use the drop house.“ He sing-songs. Then sits up and gasps. „The drop house. The perfect name for a porta-potty company. As soon as we get out of here, I’m taking that straight to ‚shark tank‘.“ Barton, you’re a genius.

Bucky’s completely ignores his visionary idea, instead he seems to be enthralled with the no-no list. Which was Clint's idea, so he can forgive him for that.

„How great is this no-no list? I mean, we’ve made it impossible to annoy each other. We’re gonna make out with this stakeout.“ He grins, obviously proud of his… rhyme/wordplay/whatever, Clint has never been good with stylistic devices.

„Hey bud, is rhyming on your no-no list?“

Bucky frowns and turns around on his chair, finally facing Clint like a proper human being. „No.“

Cling hums deeply. „Cool. Cool. Just seems pretty close to reciting poetry.“

„Yeah, but it’s different.“ 

Clint considers. „Yeah it’s different… I’m just gonna add it.“ 

Bucky joins him where he is now standing in front of the wall, ink marker balanced carefully in his left hand. „So we can add things now?“

„Yeah, why not, right? I mean, we got the time, and we got the ink.“

„Everything but the kitchen sink.“ Bucky continues reflexively.

„What did I just say?“

„Okay okay. Add it and then to the window. We actually have a job, you know.“

„Back to the window it is.“

 

**1 hour later**

Bucky has made himself at home on the dusty rug splayed across the floor, massaging his upper thighs and glutes? Clint is equally turned on and horrified. „What is happening?“

Bucky gives him the slight shit-eating grin that makes his heart do a couple drunk, fluttering beats. „Oh, y’know, I got to do this or the bullet holes in my but stiffen up.“

Clint doesn’t even know what emotion to express. „No talking about your bullet holes.“

Bucky just throws his hands up and walks over to the windows to begin his watch.

 

**Night 4**

„Two-hundred-fifty-one, two-hundred-fifty-two–

„No pull-ups. Especially from weird rods protruding out of the wall.“

______________________________________________________________________________

 

**Day 5**

Bucky has finally found his inner peace after twisting his body into the ‚formidable face‘ pose, his mind and body becoming one, his soul–

„No Yoga, that's on the list.“

Damnit.

„Also, no yoga pants. I’m seeing more than I ever wanted to see here.“

 

**2 hours later**

„No beatboxing while spying.“

 

**30 minutes later**

„No 'passionate' dialogues with your bow.“ Bucky declares, writing it down on the wall.

„No spoilers.“

„No using weird substitutes as toothbrushes.“

„No multi-level marketing schemes.“

Bucky scoffs. „No calling legitimate business ideas ‚schemes‘.“ 

„They all have to do with murder! It’s illegal!“ Clint throws his hands up incredulously. „No gasps while reading.“

„No mocking my food.“

„No peeling off wallpaper." 

„No adding 'Z's to the ends of words.“ 

„No parkour.“

„No making birds your pets.“

„No unrequested scary Russian lullabies.“

„No putting magnets on my metal arm.“

______________________________________________________________________________

 

**Day 6**

„Hey, no arm hair cutting!“

„Clint, we’re here for eight days and my metal arm tends to rip them out. It’s painful.“ Bucky says calmly.

„I don’t care, it’s on the list!“

Bucky straightens up and squares his shoulders. „Well, I hope you like arm hair bush.“

„All right, no more talking. No more talking at all.“ He rushes over to the wall, scribbling it down. „I’m putting that on your no-no list.“

„That was talking.“ Bucky hisses, writing it down as well.

„So was that.“

„Okay, fine. In three, two, one. No talking, zip it.“

They proceed to mouth angry words at each other, Clint, due to his extensive training in lip-reading, catches all the immature insults Bucky mouths at him while Bucky doesn’t have the skill to call Clint out for reciting the entire plot of all 5 ‚Die Hard‘ movies.

 

**Night 6**  

Bucky’s phone rings. Generic, pre-installed ringtone of course. He picks it up and urgently presses the phone showing Fury’s caller ID into Clint’s hands.  

„Hey director.“ Clint exclaims happily and Bucky scoots closer to him to catch the rest of the phone call. 

„How’s the operation going?“

„Great. The Beach Umbrella has had nonstop visitors. Among those no Frank Castle though, sadly.“

„The Beach Umbrella?“

„Guy who runs the drop site. We came up with fun little nicknames for everyone.“

On the other end of the phone call, Fury’s voice is bored and unimpressed. „I’m glad you’re amusing yourselves. People thought you’d be at each other’s throats by now. You need a relief team?“

Clint and Bucky stare at each other uncertainly. „Whaaaat? Nu-uh.“ Bucky punches Clint’s shoulder. „No sassy Nu-uh’s.“ He whispers and points to the wall where it says ‚no sassy Nu-uh’s‘ right underneath ‚no talking about ortolans'. 

„What was that?“ Both assassins jump.

„Uh, nothing. I just said we don’t need a relief team. Everything’s going great, right Barnes?“

„Right, so great.“ Bucky says into the speaker, a little startled by sudden phone-call anxiety.

Fury doesn’t seem super convinced, but at least he doesn’t explicitly say so, which means it can be ignored. „Good. See you in a couple of days.“

„Okay, bye, see you, bye, adios, see ya, bye-bye now, I love you.“ Clit babbles into the speaker till the call ends.

Bucky frowns. „What?“

______________________________________________________________________________

 

**Day 7**

„Ugh, the only food left in this room is your stupid herring.“ Clint complains after going through all cooling boxes for at least 40 minutes.

Bucky sends him a pissed off look, but it's not one of the usual light ones. „Oh, so we’re talking now?“

„Well I guess so, since words are coming out of my mouth and you heard them, yeah.“ Clint replies, more cynical than the usual playful sarcasm he likes to play around with.

„That’s cynicism. No being cynical. It’s on the list.“ 

„I’m so sick of the list.“ Clint sighs tiredly, glancing at the wall they've entirely covered with 'no-no's'. 

"Well there is a reason we've got it." Bucky hisses, stepping closer to Clint. It feels like standing in front of an imminent storm. "After all, it was your _brilliant_ idea! It's the reason we're fighting! Just because you had to come up with this  _childish_ plan! We'd be okay if you could just take things seriously for once in a while!"

„Wrong!" Clint fires back, now heated, angry. "The only reason we don’t fight, is because _I_ never say anything when you annoy me, which is _constantly_ , baby. I just let it roll off! I’m a duck’s back, baby!“ Clint almost shouts, fists clenched tightly. Shit, he's so pissed. Pissed at this stupid mission, pissed at how they hadn't managed to stay fight-free, pissed at Bucky's stupidly pretty face and pissed at the fucking hot wave of attraction coursing through him at Bucky's dark, menacing glare. Fuck, why does he always have to have a thing for the intimidating ones?

„Stop saying baby!“

„Well, fuck you, Clint Barton calls people ‚baby‘ when he gets angry–

Suddenly, a pair of lips are pressed against his, Bucky is gripping his forearms tightly and pushing him up against the god forsaken No-no List wall. Bucky kisses him hard, bruising his skin, and before he can react, he is manhandled across the room, the back’s of his thighs colliding with the table, sending a suitcase crashing to the ground. Damn, that’s some super-strength right there. And fuck, that’s so hot. 

„Stop being so. Goddamn. Annoying.“ He growls, fucking _growls_ and moves into Clint’s personal space again, fisting his metal arm in the short hair at the nape of Clint’s neck and basically shoves his tongue down the archers throat, other hand digging into his hip. Clint makes an embarrassing strangled sound as Bucky slides between his now parted legs, pressing flush against Clint, a warm, solid and toned body Clint gladly accepts with an approving groan. Bucky is all kinds of sinful right now.

As they fight for dominance, a fight that Clint is sure he won't win, Bucky digs his flesh fingers into the back of Clint's roughly hoisting him onto the table, more papers, binoculars and boxes clattering to the ground. A desperate wave of need floods he finally gets his hands on Bucky's muscled chest, splaying his fingers wide to access as much as possible. God, he's wanted this since–

He frowns when Bucky's warmth is suddenly gone, scowling at something outside.

And suddenly Clint hears it too, shouts from outside, panicked, loud and already getting more and more distant. Faster than his eyes can register, Bucky has already gotten out a long-range rifle, punching a hole into the window and shoving the barrel through it. He shoots three-four times before Clint can even grab his bow from where it is resting against the opposite wall. His hearing aids pick up four bodies dropping to the floor, screaming in pain or being dead at drop and a jeep-sounding vehicle speeing away with squeaking tires. 

"He got away." Bucky sighs and leans back against the wall, pinching the bridge of his nose, teeth bared, and breathing heavily through his nose.

"The drop house owner or Castle."

"You think I'd be mourning the escape of some low-level Mexican weapon-trade asshole?"

Clint sighs.

„Great. Now our cover’s blown.“ Clint cards his hands through his mussed up hair frustratedly, brain still a spinning mess from before. God damnit, thoughts, get your shit together! Against better judgement, he goes for the next best thing that comes into his mind in such situations: blaming others. „If you hadn’t decided that this was the fucking moment to start full-on making out, we wouldn’t have been spotted!"

„Well you weren’t exactly put off now, were you!" Bucky shouts and for a second Clint thinks he's going to punch him.

"You know what? Fuck you." Clint gives up exhaustedly and slides his bow into it's case. "We're going back to the headquarters."

______________________________________________________________________________

 

**S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, 6:30 pm**

"Well, I'm gonna check this stuff back in." Bucky declares and takes Clint's equipment bag from his hands.

"Great. Do it." Clint spits, shoving the bag into Bucky's metal arm.

Bucky doesn't flinch, even though the impact should have been pretty heavy. "Okay. So then we're done." He says, a bit of uncertainty in his voice, but Clint's an asshole today. "Yeah, then we're done." He says coldly, pushing past Bucky only to be confronted by Fury walking around the corner in all his dark, leathery glory.

"Barton, thanks to your mishap, the drop site has been abandoned and Frank Castle's gone to the ground. We told you, eight days was too long for a stakeout!"

Clint is so close to snarking back something immature and hurtful, and since he's an asshole like that, he does. "With all due respect, sir, it wasn't the amount of time. It's who I was stuck there with. I could easily have done it with, like, Bruce."

"Really."

"You would have been able to stop him from turning big and green?"

"I would have tranquilized him first, this isn't my fist rodeo."

Fury's unpressed look grows more and more bored by the second. "You need to find Frank Castle. You can start by doing door duty, see if anyone knows where he is. Take Barnes." He turns to walk off, clearly having more important business to attend to than two petty Avengers who've gotten into a fight.

"Sir, I'd like to request a new partner. I can't work with Bucky, we're not friends anymore." 

Fury stops in his tracks and turns around slowly. His eye is twitching with annoyance and it sends goosebumps up Clint's bare arms.

"'Friends'? I don't care if you're friends. This is not a playdate, this is your commanding Director ordering you to do your damn job."

Clint knows how ridiculous his whining sounds. Contrary to popular belief, he's very much from aware. Doesn't stop him from topping it off with an other immature line. "Okay. But I hope you can live with the fact that you're forcing people to spend time together who would rather not."

Fury isn't even facing him anymore when he says "I'm fine with that."

______________________________________________________________________________

  

**Run down apartment complex, Hells kitchen, 8:38 pm**  

"This is the apartment of one of Frank Castle's assumed associates' apartment. Maybe she's seen something." Bucky monotonously reads off a very ratty notebook as he walks down the corridor in long, determined strides that are almost to quick for Clint to follow. 

"Let's just get this over with."

Clint knocks at the door, careful to not let the producing splitters pierce his skin. A blonde woman opens the door a minimal gap, but Bucky already kicks it down, heavy combat boots actually breaking off a good portion of the brittle wood. The 'breaking and entering' happens just in time to catch a glimpse of the Punisher's black and white costume escaping through the window.

Bucky and Clint immediately barrel into the small apartment guns and bow at the ready. "Fire escape. I'll cut him off from below!" Clint shouts and Bucky is already gone through the window where Frank Castle vanished just a couple of seconds before, elegantly swinging from the windowsill onto the wobbly metal fire escape construction.

"Freeze, asshole!" Bucky snarls at the quickly moving figure to stories underneath him, using his superhuman abilities to drop down a couple of stories at once. Castle has already extended the last metal ladder on ground floor to drop to the floor of the alley, however Bucky doesn't let him escape. Since he can't get a clear fatal shot and S.H.I.E.L.D. wants Castle alive, he choses to shoot through his left wrist, making the Punisher drop his gun with a scream. It still doesn't stop him from firing a bullet at Bucky with his right hand though. He's an excellent shot, probably even better than Bucky, but he's got a metal arm to deflect that piss poor murder attempt.

His disdain, however, gives Castle a small time frame where he tears Bucky off the Fire escape and throws his body against the brick wall. His other gun pointing at Bucky is sent flying far out of reach by Clint skidding around the corner, arrow clattering away down the alleyway. Castle diverts his attention to the archer, slamming him up against the wall with a knife in his hand, Clint struggling against the blade getting closer and closer to slicing a deep red pattern into his throat.

Seeing Clint in such danger makes Bucky see red. With an angered, almost inhumane scream he launches himself off the ground, grabbing Castle's head with his metal arm, endorphins coursing through his bloodstream as he hears his skull crack under his fingers. He throws the vigilante onto the ground, pinning his armes behind and secures them with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s special handcuffs while Clint binds his feet together with some dirtied string randomly lying around. Castle looks like he is about to pass out, but Bucky makes sure to send him into a deep slumber with a precise kick to the jaw.

He huffs, blowing a couple of annoying strands out of his eyes. Reluctantly, and a bit shyly, he looks over to Clint. "You okay?"

Clint meets his eyes but looks away quickly, awkwardly shuffling his feet. "Yeah."

A weird silence ensues, filled with confusing feelings, adrenaline, heavy breathing and an unconscious body. Bucky mumbles something, but of course Clint's aids don't pick it up. "Come again? I'm deaf, you know." A small smirk plays across his lips, and Bucky can't help himself from rolling his eyes fondly. 

Bucky rubs the back of his neck, wincing as the metal arm rips out a couple strands of hair. "Thanks for having my back earlier. Didn't think you would have come."

"You really don't have to thank me. I've always got your back." He opens his mouth as if to complain about Bucky thinking so low of him, but seems to consider it, and damn, Bucky has always  _adored_ that expressive face. "Look, this whole thing has been so stupid. 

Bucky exhales, relieved. "Right?" He pauses. Shit, that silence is stretching again. Tentatively, he brings himself to ask "Are we friends again?" in a small voice, daring to meet Clint's eyes. He can't believe he is so shy and awkward about this. This behavior so does not correspond with the republican he tries to uphold.

A slight blush is on Clint's cheeks now, and he slowly steps into Bucky's personal space. "No." He says quietly, looking up and placing a hand on Bucky's cheek. The protective finger caps are rough against his cheek but Bucky finds himself leaning into the comforting warmth. "I think we're past that."

Buck holds his breath as Clint leans in, agonizingly slowly–

"Jesus fucking Christ, just kiss already." Comes from Frank Castle's slowly awaking body, followed by a disgustingly wet cough and quick, rattling breaths. Both of them groan in annoyance. "You're kind of running a moment here." Clint bickers and makes grabby hands at Bucky, but he's already walked over to the heap of vigilante body on the floor.

Bucky kicks him in the face again to silence him for good and swiftly leans down to kiss Clint slowly, sweetly, one hand at the back of his neck and the other, metal one pulling him closer as it sneaks behind his back as far as it can go, considering the quiver. Both their eyes fall shut as they temporarily lose themselves in the sensation, far-away car honks and siren blares fading into the distance and the off smell of garbage and sewers long forgotten.

"I'd love to continue this, but there's blood on your face and I'm pretty sure my phone is blowing up with S.H.I.E.L.D. wanting to know what's taking so long. To be continued?" Clint asks reluctantly and breaks the kiss. He doesn't make any move to ease out of their embrace, however.

"Oh, you bet. Let's fucking put this guy in jail, huh?"


End file.
